Sláinte
by calltheangels
Summary: The paths of the Manhattan SVU and the Saints of South Boston cross when they discover they're after the same man. Still toying with the plot!
1. Jane Doe

Disclaimer- I didn't come up with the characters from SVU or BDS.

AN- So, it's almost three in the morning, and i came up with this idea for a crossover in the middle of trying to overcome my writer's block on my other BDS fic- I don't have a real idea as to where this story is headed, but i hope it'll turn out awesome (that's where you reviewers come into play and help me work my magic!). So anyways, without further ado, i give you ...

****Sláinte****

**Olivia POV**

I had just finally made it to bed when my phone rang. I groaned, reaching out and feeling for my cell on the bedside table. I had half a mind to throw the damned thing across the room in the name of catching a few hours of sleep, but when duty calls, sleep goes on the back burner.

"Benson."

Thirty minutes later I found myself at a crime scene. It was pretty typical looking at first glance- dark alley, dead body, patrol officers milling around. I found my partner Elliot standing there, surveying the scene. "What do we have?" I asked.

"White female, found dead by a couple teenagers, no ID."

"Rape victim?"

"Why else would we be here?" I snorted and pulled on a pair of latex gloves, ducking under the yellow crime scene tape to take a look for myself.

The girl's body was lying facedown in a pool of blood and half naked. There was a gunshot wound to the back of her head and there were bruises all over her back; some looked recent and others looked like they had been there a while. The medical examiner, Melinda, looked up from the clipboard she was taking notes on.

"Anything interesting?" I asked.

"Well, there's no ID on her but she was carrying this beaded handbag." She held a plastic bag marked evidence. I frowned. "What's so interesting about that?"

She held up another bag of evidence. "She was carrying a gun on her."

Elliot appeared next to me, also with a frown on his face. "Well if she was a streetwalker it wouldn't be too out of character. Girl's gotta protect herself somehow."

"It's out of character when the gun is the standard issue for NYPD police officers."

"So our victim was a cop?" Elliot's voice was suddenly a lot sharper at the mention of a possible fallen-sister-to-blue.

I looked at Elliot and shrugged. "Could be a coincidence."

Melina nodded. "Could be. If she was a cop her prints will be in the system. I'll let you know more after I examine the body."

We nodded and left Melinda to her work. After questioning the kids who found her, we went back to the stationhouse in attempt to think of plan of attack. Elliot handed me a much needed cup of coffee as I stared at the file we had just started on our Jane Doe. All we had so far was that she had been shot in the back of the head in an alleyway a few hours before. There were no eye witnesses either; after canvassing the area, nobody had heard gun shots or sounds of a struggle. We would have to simply wait for an ID on the body and DNA.

I really hate waiting.

My eyesight was becoming slightly blurry as I stared at the bright computer screen. Elliot looked up at me from his desk. "Liv, when's the last time you selpt?"

I rubbed my eyes. "Um, I think I caught a couple hours in the crib last night." I mumbled, trying to remember.

Elliot was great as a partner- bout the best one I'd ever had. We had ways of looking out for and keeping each other in check. Whenever Elliot had his temper flare-up, all I had to do was send him up to the roof for him to pace it off. Whenever I was sleep deprived because of working on a case (which was nearly always, I hadn't had a good night of sleep in years), he made sure that I caught a couple hours when I could. We worked in perfect sync, and we wouldn't have it any other way.

I went to pick up my coffee cup and lost my grip on it, knocking it all over my desk. "Ah, shit!" I groaned and dove to save the numerous stacks of paper on my desk. With everything being electronic, I couldn't figure out why we still had to have hard copies of everything. So much paper was used on just one report- and then having to print out ten copies of it for whoever? It was a total waste. I grinned to myself as a rouge thought entered my mind.

_NYPD. The leader in killing trees- Should be our new slogan. _

"C'mon, Liv. Don't worry about it, I'll take care of it. Let's get you some sleep." I sighed and stood up, leaving the mess behind me. He walked me upstairs to the room full of bunkbeds and made sure I laid down before he left me alone. I shook my head at my partner, wondering what on earth his wife would do if she knew how much he actually looked out for my well-being.

Our relationship as coworkers was perfect. It was our relationship outside of work where things got a little dicey. We were close friends- something his wife, Kathy, had a hard time with. A few times she even accused me of sleeping with him. Don't get me wrong, if Elliot wasn't my partner and wasn't married, hell yes I'd consider him- But he had enough problems without Benson-the-Basketcase getting involved in them.

Somewhere in between imagining how Kathy would murder me if she could and vaguely wondering what my partner looked like naked (I'm human, I'm not perfect!), I fell into a comfortable sleep. It was sad. I slept better at the station then I did in my own bed.

"Hey, Olivia, wake up." I felt a shoulder shaking me awake. Instead of my stoic looking partner, I was greeted by tall and twiggy Detective John Munch. I swiped at his hand and sat up. "You better have a cup of coffee for me."

He handed me a mug full of coffee. That was one thing about Munch; He was like a boyscout- always prepared. "I also have a lead for you, in case you're wondering."

I took a gulp of the hot drink, spluttering a little as it burned the back of my throat. "Geez, Liv, does sleep deprivation also impair your common sense. 'It's a hot beverage, better suck it down while it can put third degrees burns in my mouth.'" I rolled my eyes and waited for him to continue.

"What is it?" I asked impatiently.

"We've got a name on our Jane Doe."

**Murphy POV**

"For being the Big Apple, you'd think the hotels would be a bit…cleaner." I rolled my eyes at my twin brother, Connor. We sat on our beds in a hotel room that was dingy, dimly lit, and looked like every other hotel room we had stayed in over the last couple days.

Speaking of the last couple days, they'd been downright hellacious. All in the span of forty eight hours, we had been caught sneaking into the Yakavetta family house, watched as our best friend Rocco was murdered in cold blood right in front of us, were reunited with our long lost father- who, as it turns out, happened to be a sort of hired assassin (who had tried to kill us only a week before, figure that one out), and bailed out of Boston with nothing but the NYC skyline in sight.

We hadn't had time to properly mourn Rocco's death. It was just as well; I was half convinced if we actually did anything more than down a couple shots his name, Rocco would come back from the dead and kick our asses. Still, I had a hollow, aching feeling in my chest. He had been our friend since we moved to Boston and had always accepted us, even after the whole Saints thing started.

Connor laid back on his bed, not bothering to take off his clothes. It was sort of an engrained habit at this point; after the Russians came to kill us the morning after Saint Patty's, we had constantly been on the move, constantly prepared and armed, ready for the first sign of trouble- that included sleeping with our boots on.

I leaned back against the headboard of the bed, lighting up a cigarette, willing myself to relax long enough to fall asleep.

"Sign says no smoking in the room, genius."

"Funny. I really can't force myself to give a shit at the moment."I blew out a couple smoke rings to illustrate my point. Even without looking at him, I could see the scowl on Connor's face.

"Fine, but if the fire alarm goes off, you're taking all the blame for it."

"Fine. Then you can explain why we have two bags full of guns and rope." I spat back. I waited for the eventual tackle, the swing of a fist, a headlock- instead all I got was a faint grumble.

"Sounds like a plan." He mumbled. "Hey, Murph," he said quietly. "Doesn't Roc have a sister out here in New York? Name's Jackie?"

I nodded. "Yeah. She's a cop."

"Think she knows he's…." he stopped right before saying the word 'dead.' I understood to a point. We both knew he was dead. But admitting out loud made it real, made the nightmare a reality.

I coughed, hiding the fact i was clearing my throat of the lump that had been there. "I doubt it. He said they haven't spoken since she went to the police academy. And most of their family is either dead or estranged, so I doubt anyone knows for that matter."

"I want to go find her." He said suddenly, rolling out of bed and rummaging around in his duffel bag. "She's his sister, she deserves to know."

"What are we gonna fucking tell her? 'Sorry, your brother is dead and it's all our fault. Here's a card and some flowers'?"

"I don't know what we're gonna tell her, but regardless, she's gonna get the news from us." He pulled out a bottle of whiskey and took a long pull from it. He handed it to me and i mirrored the action. Warmth pooled in my stomach. I took a other drink and handed the bottle back.

"Rocco was a good man." said Connor.

"Aye, he was." Silence fell between us for sometime as we passed the bottle back and forth. My head was starting to feel fuzzy. "We're gonna get him." I said sleepily. "Just gotta wait it out until it's not as hot in Boston."

Connor drained what was left of the bottle and threw it in the corner of the room. I curled up on my side, letting the alcohol take the edge off of everything. All I wanted was to sleep off the guilt. I could mourn in the morning.


	2. No Such Thing

**AN- Soo... it's been a while. Finally felt like updating it! Sorry about the wait. :)**

**Olivia POV**

Captain Cragen stood in front of the four of us – Elliot, Fin, and Much- hands behind his back, looking solemn. "Here's what we know. Our Jane Doe is Officer Jackie Della Rocco. She was working undercover for Narcotics. Her cause of death was a bullet to the back of her head. She was shot execution style. She was also raped prior to her death." He fell silent.

Fin cocked his head at Cragen. "That's _it._" He shook his head. "She get any intell over to Narcotics before she died?"

"I'm working with them. It's a sensitive matter."

Fin looked dumbfounded. "One of their own died. You'd think they'd be more than willing to help us out."

Cragen shrugged a shoulder helplessly. "You'll work with what we've got. Fin and Munch, go over to her place, scope it, see if you can find anything over there. Elliot and Liv, stay here and try and get in touch with her next of kin. This will take some…. Tact." He looked meaningfully at me.

"Right… on it, Captain." I turned and walked over to my desk, intent on getting to work. Much passed me on his way to his desk. "Need anything? You're looking a little worse for wear there." Munch had always had a soft spot for me, though he would never own up to it.

"Nah. I'm fine. Thanks though."

"So that's a tall espresso from that joint down the street then? Got it." I shook my head at the man, logging onto my computer. A quick search pulled up Jackie Della Rocco, and after a few failed phone calls, it was quickly apparent Jackie had no relatives. Actually, aside from her parents and brother living in Boston, she had no one. I read through her profile and files, fascinated. The girl apparently joined because she herself had a rather rocky life; her entire family had been in and out of jail. She was the one exception though, and it seemed that her real family were her fellow officers in the NYPD. It struck a real chord with me.

"Excuse me…." I looked up at the sound of a lilting Irish accent next to my desk. A man stood with his hands deep in his coat pockets, almost drowning in the black pea coat he wore.

"Can I help you?"

He bit his lip. "I'm looking for an officer. Um, her name is Jackie Della Rocco. We-" he looked over his shoulder and let out an exasperated gasp. "Guess my brother got himself lost." He coughed awkwardly.

"What do you need with a police officer who happens to be dead?" Elliot asked from his desk. I shot him a sharp look, but he ignored me, looking at the Irish man with a glare.

"She's…dead?" He looked shocked.

"Yah. Dead. Raped and shot in the back of the head. Why? Know something about it?"

"Elliot!"

He waved a hand at me. "it's a simple question."

At that moment another man in a black pea coat appeared around the corner. "The fuck, Murph? " his voice was layered with an even thicker Irish accent. "Thought the desk lady said Narcotics, not-"

The one named Murphy cut him off. "Conn… they say she's dead." Conn's face went from annoyed to wary. I saw the gears turning in his head as he played a game of mental connect- the-dots. "Are you serious?" he asked Elliot.

"Very." Elliot leaned back in his chair.

Murph shot Conn a look and Conn nodded after scrubbing a hand over his face. He had bruises on his knuckles, and cut on his cheek. Both men looked how I felt- exhausted. "We…knew her brother." He said quietly, looking at me.

"Knew?" I asked.

"Her brother, Rocco- Sorry, David…. We called him Rocco….." Murph's voice trailed off. Conn picked up where he left off.

"Her brother was killed a couple days ago. We felt obligated to tell his sister, at least. As far as we know, both their parents have been missing from the picture for years…"

"There's more to it, isn't there?" I asked.

"Yeah… mucho más…." Murph mumbled in Spanish, as if slipping into another language was second nature for him. I doubt he even registered it.

"He was involved with the mob over in Boston. A package runner, since he was in high school. That's about all we know, really.

"How nice of you, coming all this way just to tell his sister her brother is dead." Elliot spat at the men. Murph clenched his jaw tight; the bruises around his jaw became more pronounced. Conn put a hand on his brother's shoulder. "We're passing through….we found out right as were leaving Boston. Just trying to do the right thing is all." He paused. "I hope you find the men responsible for her death."

I watched Murph the whole time Conn spoke. He was like a tightened coil, ready to spring at anytime, fidgeting. His eyes were tired, and almost haunted looking. Judging by the way he let Conn do the talking, he was the younger of the two. I noticed Conn kept a hand on his brother's shoulder, almost like he was keeping him in check. I could only imagine Murph was more than just a bit hot headed.

Elliot surveyed them with narrowed eyes. "We will. Count on it."

They nodded at us and walked towards the door, shoulder's hunched. I swore I could have heard the one named Murph say under his breath, "Not if find them first."

Elliot looked to me. "They know more than what they're telling."

"Maybe about her brother's death, but I doubt they know anything about Jackie." Elliot crossed his arms, grumpily. "Should have gotten an interview with them, at the very least."

"it could be coincidence."

Elliot snorted, turning back to his computer. "There is no such thing, Liv. No such thing."


End file.
